


Best Friends, and Soviet Strongholds

by flyingfoxtopus



Series: Domesticated Foxes [12]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Baby Natasha Romanov, Best Friends, Budapest, Director Carter, Domestic Peggy Carter, F/M, Found Family, Possible Endgame Spoilers, S.H.I.E.L.D. life, Spies & Secret Agents, What Happened in Budapest (Marvel), platonic clintasha, things don't go to plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingfoxtopus/pseuds/flyingfoxtopus
Summary: Natasha undersands people think it is odd that she would rather work with "the screw up kid" than any of the other "more qualified" S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. And admittedly, some of Clint's skills need work. But he's learning. He's the best shot she's ever met, slightly peculiar weapon preferrence asside. And most importantly he has something none of the other agents have.He has her trust.She would rather spend her time teaching Clint how to clean up his messes and avoid making he same mistake next time, versus worry that her partner is going to stab her in the back or turn her in to the Russians. Especially if Director Carter and Deputy Director Fury are going to keep entrusting her with above top secret semi-off-book missions. If they don't trust anyone else, she certainly isn't going to.Even if it does occasionally lead to more car chases and shoot outs than her professional pride would prefer.
Series: Domesticated Foxes [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1443574
Comments: 8
Kudos: 3





	1. Exit Strategy

Wind tore through the broken side window of the Voxhol Astra. Clint’s map kept folding in on itself, making it very hard to keep track of where they were as buildings and streets whipped by outside the car. He didn’t want to tell Natasha to slow down, partly because she was terrifying when she was focused, partly because everytime they slowed down the bad guys caught up, and the Hungarian Mafia did not mess around. From the chatter coming from the radio in his lap, the KGB and Hungarian Police weren’t far off either. 

This was the problem with old world capitals. Narrow twisty streets, a tone of dead ends, no logical layout, and once you got right down into them the major landmarks entirely disappeared. Clint had completely lost track of where they were in relation to Buda Castle or the Hungarian Parliament Building. He was pretty sure he knew how to get to the Fisherman’s Bastion, but he’d be mostly guessing until he got close. In his defence, they had only actually been in Budapest for just over 48 hours. He hadn’t really had a chance to get the lay of the land.

Things had been going well up until about twenty minutes ago. They had made it into the mansion. Found the office. Natasha had hacked into the computer. Clint had found the hard copies of the documents in the locked filing cabinet. It should have been a good night.

Raising the alarm on the way out had been an accident. Clint refused to say that was his fault. The floor had been wet. Anyone would have slipped. Who even left a dining table full of dishes overnight?

The important thing was _they_ had the manifest. 

All they had to do was not lose it. And evade two extremely hostile forces. And make it back to the other side of the other side of the Iron Curtain in one piece… There were a few things they needed to do.

Clint focused harder on the map. “Hard left. Hard left. We’re going to miss the bridge.”

Natasha pulled the handbrake, flicking the car in a perfect 90° turn and gunning it down another narrow cobbled street. She loved old europe. She really did. But if she never got in another car chase in a medieval city it would be too soon. She returned the break to neutral and swerved around a discarded crate.

Clint shook the map as it flipped into his face again. “Okay, one more right. Then it should open up and we’ll be home free.”

The car skidded through the turn, tires squealing. Natasha shifted gear again, foot heavy on the excelerator. -- and immediately stamped on the brakes to stop them hitting a solid brick wall.

Natasha mentally ran through every swear word she knew in ten languages as they rocked to a stop. 

She closed her eyes to focus herself. “Barton. I am going to ask a question. I need you to answer it honestly. I promise I won’t be mad." Natasha let herself take a deep breath. She _wouldn't_ be mad. He was leaning. People made mistakes. "Is there any chance at all that you’re holding that map upside down?”

Clint glanced between the map and the compass. There was a slight chance. “The good news is they will never have expected us to come this way?”

“Right." Natasha made a snap decision. "Out of the car. We’re going on foot.”

Clint sling his bow and quiver over his shoulder. On foot sounded like they were going to be doing a lot of running. Fury was going to have a field day when his ‘train like you are going to run a marathon everyday’ lecture, turned out to be right.

Natasha checked her gun was secure in her thigh holster and grabbed the all important briefcase. She could hear their pursuers cars getting closer. “Keep up.” 

Natasha started down the alley at the lope her _Otets_ had taught her to use for long distance running. Long smooth movements equaled speed. Clint fell in at her side, he didn’t have the run down yet, but if they kept being sent out together he would pick it up. She hoped they would get to run more missions together. Wet floor and map disasters aside, she’d rather work with Clint than with anyone else. He was able to keep moving even after things went sideways, which was more than she could say for most of the agents she got stuck with.

*****

They stumbled into a main street. Natasha's eyes darted around for distinctive landmarks. She spotted a bridge, not the one they had been aiming for, but at least a way across the river. A church tower peaked out from the alley across from them. Sirens sounded from the end of the street farthest from the bridge. Over polished sedans crested the bridge.

Natasha grabbed Clint by the scruff of his jacket and dragged him down the alley towards the church. Churches were good. There was usually more than one exit to a church, frequently onto another street, and the walls were thick.

Bursting through the main doors, they kicked their way into the sanctuary and pelted down the aisle towards the altar. Three doors. One would lead down to the crypt. One would lead to the sacristy and probably the roof access. The third was priests quarters and their way out. Nat made an educated guess and made for the left hand door.

Wrong choice.

It was the sacristy. There was a grated door in the back wall. It led to a tight spiral staircase, access to the spire. It was also firmly locked with a padlock and a bar. The bar and hinges looked like they had rusted into place.

The front door of the church burst open again and a hail of gunfire peppered the wall around the door they had just come through.

"We need options." Nat scanned the room in panic. It was a dead end. She had led them into a dead end. 

"Okay." Clint slipped his bow off his shoulder and took a shot. "Option A. You get that door open before I run out of arrows. Option B. We die with me sobbing quietly in the corner."

Nat looked over her shoulder at him. This was what she liked about Clint. Nothing flustered him. "You never do anything quietly."

"Guess that leaves option A then." Clint nocked another arrow and lined up a new shot. A second followed it off the string.

Nat took a few covering shots of her own, before focusing her attention on the lock. Clint was right. There were two options. Forward or death. Of the two, she preferred forward.

It was a simple lock. The main complication was it hadn't been opened in what felt like years. The tumblers and pins were stiff. Natasha had to use more tension than she normally would. She refused to let tension or stress creep into her actions. If she did, her hands would shake, things would slip out of place. She'd have to start all over.

There was a lull outside their room. The KGB had retreated. And from the few remaining low moans, most of the mob was either incapacitated or had been scared off. Clint decided not to question it and collected his arrows out of the few guys who had gone down inside the door.

The radio on Clint's hip squawked and buzzed to life again. Picking up the other side’s transmission. “ _Prosya Soldata._ ”

Clint frowned. He was pretty sure he had heard that wrong. Maybe his Russian needed work. “Requesting the soldier? That’s not very specific.”

Natasha felt the blood drain from her face. “We need to move, _now_.”

She grabbed a Kalashnikov off the ground and used it as a pry bar to pop the rusted hinge off the door. Then again, to leaver the door open. Even if they ended up trapped on the roof, that was better than trapped inside. Outside was always better than in. Outside had options.

*****

The gap between the church roof to the next building was only about three meters. Natasha cleared it with a running start. Clinging to steeply slanted roof as she waited for Clint to follow.

Clint landed with a winded huff, only saved from sliding over the edge and landing on the ground three stories down, when Nat grabbed his arm and hauled him to his knees.

KGB in all black tactical gear. Mobsters in tailored suits. Local police, apparently 'just happy to be included'. The streets were an overturned anthill of people trying to shoot them. All of whom had a much better angle on them than Natasha would like. Stranding on a roof with no cover was far from an ideal position for a fire fight. 

It was ideal for something else. From Where Natasha was standing, she had a clear view of the city open in front of her. Including a clear view of the path they needed to take to get to the bridge. _Still_ not the one they had been aiming for. But at this point, any way out was the right way.

She helped Clint back to his feet. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to drop a shock grenade off the edge of the roof. Then we are going to run. Jump to the next building, along the roof ridge to the end off the block, down that building on the left, follow the alley to the river, across the bridge, and we’re home free. You with me?"

Clint squeezed her shoulder and fixed his eyes on the route she had indicated instead of the many guns below them. Nat said they could do it. They could do it.

Natasha counted down from three. 

Dropped her grenade. 

And they were off before the explosion sounded. 

Just before she left the rooftops, Natasha glanced back. The distraction had worked. Everything behind them was chaos, and so far, no one was following.

******

Clint could feel Natasha right by his right shoulder as they sprinted for the middle of the bridge. If they could just get across, everything would open up again. They could steal a new car and make a break for the border.

A bullet whipped past on his other side. Clint grabbed Nat’s arm and pressed them back into the shadow of an elaborate carved railing support. They had caught up a lot faster than he had hoped they would. Although it looked like they had lost the mob. Another shot clipped the stone. Oh good. They'd managed to find positions in the buildings overlooking the bridge. That was… news...

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” Natasha banged her head against the rail behind her. This was not good. A lot of things that had happened in the last hour fell into that category. But this was especially not good. They were surrounded, on a bridge, without cover, and with her father probably on his way. Which would be fine if he was still her father. Unfortunately, she suspected the man that showed up would be the mindless killing machine he had become in recent years. And she and Clint couldn’t survive against him.

“I have a plan.” He moved before Natasha could stop him. Just because he had a plan, didn’t mean it was a good plan.

Clint thrust his hand into the air, his fist curled around a zipo lighter with the lid flipped up. The briefcase with the documents held out on his other side. "Stop or I blow the bridge."

"No way that works." Natasha hissed at him, desperately scanning for a way out.

“Only has to slow them down until you find us a ride.” Clint moved slowly toward the center of the bridge.

Natasha opened her mouth to chew him out. That was… actually a really good point. If Natasha could find them a car, or better yet a motorcycle, she could grab Clint and get them out of here before they called Clint’s bluff. She slipped towards the far end of bridge and

Just in time for an armored troop carrier to disgorge a disconcerting number to Hungarian regulars onto that end of the bridge.

Natasha took a step back, colliding with Clint. From bad to worse, and worse again.

Clint glanced over his shoulder at her and the new development beyond her. "We might be, just a little, bit surrounded."

"I had noticed. Thank you, Clint." Natasha quickly dropped the sniper they were trying to position on top of the troop carrier. If anything could go right today, she would really appreciate it.

Clint thrust his hand a little higher in the air, waving his fist around threateningly. "All I'm saying is now might be a really good time for one of those brilliant out of the box plans of yours."

"I am working on it." Natasha closed her eyes and willed something brilliant to come to her. She did not want to die on a bridge in Hungry.

"'Cuz this whole fake bomb ruze ain't gonna hold up much longer." Clint’s voice was starting to waver. His eyes darting desperately from side to side. There was a disturbing amount of shuffling going on among the clustered KGB and police.

Natasha was very aware of that fact. If anything, she was amazed it had held up as long as it had. It was taking a lot of willpower to stop herself reminding him that it was _his_ fake bomb ruse. That didn't mean any alternative ideas were coming to her. All she could hear was her father's voice in her head, 

_'Sometimes, little girl, you are going to be between a rock wall and a cliff with no way out.'_

_'What do I do then?'_

_'Jump before they can catch you. Never let them catch you.'_

Which had been depressing advice then. And was rather worse now.

'Not much longer' turned out to be almost exactly twenty seconds. The first shot ruffled Natasha’s hair.

Natasha grabbed Clint by the collar and dragged him to the side. At least when she jumped this time there was water at the bottom. They stumbled over the edge of the bridge, plunging into the river.

Bullets hissed through the water.

*****

When they came to shore a few minutes later, and well down stream, they had managed to shake all their pursuers. Natasha leaned back on the bank, trying to catch her breath. That was another thing to be said for Clint's particular brand of chaos. No one ever expected it. He was good at his job. Smart, nimble, one of the best shots she’d ever met. He was also a _terrible_ spy.


	2. In From The Cold

The plane and private airstrip were just over the border in Güssing. The drive to Austria had been slightly complicated by the need to 'borrow' a pair of motorcycles. But overall things had gone smoothly. Which was exactly how Natasha was going to write this whole thing up in her reports. Overall all everything went smoothly. Sure, people knew that some documents were missing, but they were always going to find out eventually. And after that performance, they _had_ to be underestimating her and Clint. Really, it could be argued, all they had done was confuse the situation. She ran one last check around the outside of the plane, pulled the blocks and boosted herself inside

Clint sat in the pilot’s seat, preflight binder in his lap. He looked up as soon as she had her head set on. "So, I've been thinking."

Natasha settled herself cross legged in the co-pilot seat and started working on sending a page to Director Carter. "Didn't know you could do that."

"I like to branch out occasionally." Clint quipped back. "Anyway. I think we should make my status as your best friend official."

"You're my best friend?" Natasha blinked at him in surprise. Friends were for normal people. She wasn't normal. She didn't even know how you made friends. She knew how you made mutually beneficial contacts, and maybe it was similar. But she was pretty sure you were supposed to like your friends and she didn't like most of her contacts.

Clint raised his eyebrows at her as the engines started to spin up. "Do you have any other friends?"

The closest thing she had were co-workers. She didn't like most of them either. Except Clint. He was different from the other people she worked with. "I work with other people."

"But are they your _friends_?" Clint emphasized the last word. Nat worked with a lot of people. She was a versatile agent and an asset to a lot of missions. They praised her efficiency, raved about her adaptability, and gossiped about how she was an unfeeling robot. Clint knew better those agents just didn’t _get_ her. Natasha could be cuttingly sarcastic. All the cutting little barbs she shared with him, she didn’t do those with anyone else, he'd tagged along with bigger groups enough times to see that. She also didn’t put up with anyone else’s incompetence, Clint knew he made mistakes. Nat just shrugged them off, saying he was ‘learning’. Which he would buy. Except she refused to work with other ‘trainees’. She actively requested Clint for a partner, and would fight anyone who accused him of being a bad agent. Her affection might not run warm, but it ran deep.

Natasha didn't have an answer for that, she hadn't even realised that _Clint_ was her friend, but it didn't look like Clint was waiting for an answer either.

He kept talking and working on the preflight checks. "What about a friendship bracelet. Ooo or matching tattoos."

Natasha was reasonably sure she would never understand Clint. But she liked him. He didn't ask stupid questions about her past, and didn't seem to want her to ask him the questions either. He acted like she was normal, even when she knew she was being weird. If she had to pick a best friend, and that was the sort of thing people in the west had, he wasn't a bad option. "Tattoos are identifying marks."

"Let's go jewellery then." Clint eased them into a smooth take off. "Want to go shopping this weekend?"

Natasha’s pagger vibrated with a return message. _Home. 1830._ "I’ll drive. We can go to the mall. But I am _not_ going to the arcade with you.”

*****

Natasha had a strong aversion to going in the front door when there were other options were available. She had a similar aversion to taking a direct route. After dropping off the plane, they had taken the computer train to Director Carter’s neighborhood. Well two stops past Director Carer’s neighbourhood. Then they switched trains to double back. Clint grumbled a little when she made them take the exit hedding in the direction exactly opposite the one they wanted. They circled back around, taking side streets and back allies.

It took the better part of an hour and a half to work their way through the suburb. Finally vaulting a privacy fence into a manicured backyard. It was only then that Natasha let herself relax at all. Even if she did flinch when Clint tripped over a squeaky dog toy.

“Hey, G.” Clint called, swinging the back door open with the familiarity of someone who had lived here for years. Which he had. Even if he had his own S.H.I.E.L.D. issued apartment down the hall from Natasha now. She swept his apartment for bugs once a week, because he was her best friend.

Grant poked his head out of the kitchen. His smile bright against the dark gold of his beard. An aging golden lab wandered past him and nosed at Clint for attention. “Hey kids. I didn’t know you were coming over. Are you staying for dinner?”

“Depends what the director says.” Natasha peeked through the curtains, just to be sure they really hadn’t been followed. “All we know is she wanted to do the debrief here instead of at the office.”

“That makes sense, Peggy thinks she has a mole.” Grant said, returning to his cooking. 

“You shouldn’t tell us that.” Natasha said, searching the corners of the room for the telltale glint of camera lenses. Microphones were easier to conceal. She wouldn't be able to spot those. "And she shouldn't tell you that."

Grant just smiled and checked on the chicken in the oven. Despite not expecting guests, he had extra portions in his baking tray. "Why are either of you the mole?”

“Being a mole sounds exhausting.” Clint said hunting through the fridge until he found two cans of cola. “Doing this job is hard enough, let alone doing twice the work.”

The lab padded back to his bed in the corner and flopped down, tail wagging contentedly. Clint stopped to give his head one more scruff before passing Natasha her cola. 

Natasha considered Grant Carter carefully. She always felt like the older man was holding something back. Like there was something he wanted to tell her, but wasn’t sure how she would react. There were also moments when he seemed to know a little too much for a semi-retired photojournalist. Even one married to Peggy Carter. “You could be the mole.”

“Ahh, you found me out.” Grant set a pot of rice on the stove and started working on the vegetables. “I’m secretly working for an ancient ninja clan sworn to protect the throne of Japan from all threats. I was assigned to guard an ancient artifact that S.H.I.E.L.D. stumbled across. I must prevent S.H.I.E.L.D. from finding out how powerful it actually is and stop anyone else getting their hands on it, lest they end the world as we know it. My entire relationship with Peggy is a cover. And all because a beautiful purple eyed assassin made me fall in love with her."

“Pull the other one, it has bells on it.” Natasha glared at him, opening the can Clint had passed her. She wasn’t a child who believed in fairy-tales. “Everyone knows the Fox Clan is just a myth.”

“Fox Clan isn’t a myth.” Grant crossed her arms over his chest and leaned back against the sink. “I've met them. Even lived with one for a while.”

“When were you in Japan?” Clint asked, hopping onto the counter and taking a big sip of his soda. “I thought you served in Europe.”

“I did.” Grant returned to washing vegetables. He shoved cleaned carrots at Clint and nodded for him to chop them. “I was in Japan for Korea though. Working, not serving. Took some great photos of the ‘geisha clubs’ that sprang up all over the place during the occupation. Really heartbreaking stuff. The colours of the girls’ kimonos made for stunning juxtaposition.”

The garage door opened and shut with a distinct thud. Grant was reminded that he really needed to rehang it so it stopped sticking. The chore just kept slipping his mind.

“I'm home!" Peggy's voice echoed happily into the kitchen.

"In the kitchen, Hun. The kids are already here." Grant called back.

“Lovely. What are we all talking about?” Peggy asked, depositing her briefcase on the table.

Grant leaned over and kissed her. The same way he had every time she came home to him for the past four decades years. “Just telling the kids how our relationship is based on an elaborate honeytrap.”

Peggy raised her eyebrows and looked around the kitchen. “Surely a good honeytrap would have dinner ready _before_ I arrived home.”

“I never said I was any good at it." Grant laughed and pulled a bottle out of the wine rack on the counter. A nice chardonnay to go with the chicken. "I’m just so pretty you forget what a bad house husband I am.”

“Mmm.” Peggy pulled his head down and kissed his cheek. This man. He was ridiculous, and she loved him. “You are very pretty. I’m going to do this debrief, then we can open that wine.”

“Sweet, wine.” Clint grinned and hopped off the counter.

“None for you, kid. You’re still under age.” Grant moved smoothly back into parental mode. Grabbing a towel to finish off the dishes.

“Awwweee. Come on G.” Clint whined, and pouted.

Natasha refused to laugh. He turned back into a kid everytime they came over here. Like he was still the sixteen year old boy Peggy had rescued from Juvie. 

“Don’t ‘come on’ him." Peggy swatted Clint affectionately on the ear. "Come tell me how Budapest went. Did you get it?”

Clint made a show of rubbing his ear as he followed her down the hall to her home office.

“Dinner will be ready in thirty.” Grant called after them.

*****

Grant had dinner laid out on the dining room table by the time their debriefing was finished. The smell of roast chicken had Clint's stomach grumbling well before Peggy released them.

Clint remembered his manners well enough to stop himself running to the table, even if he did start loading his plate before everyone else sat down. Natasha took the seat next to him, as Grant settled into his usual spot across the table, and Peggy took the head of the table.

Natasha studied Grant intently as he poured three glasses of wine. Then splashed another half serving into the remaining glass and pushed it towards Clint. Who grinned, and proceeded to make a face when he took his first sip. Natasha tasted her own wine. A little sharp, a little acidic, notes of green apple and honey, and very very dry. Not a very friendly wine for a non-drinker. She wondered if Grant had picked it specifically because Clint wouldn't like it. If he had, it was a devious move.

Grant caught her watching him, and raised an eyebrow. "What you think'n, kiddo?"

“Were the Japan Photos what won you the Prix Nadar?” Natasha asked, cutting into her chicken with her fork. Considering how open he was about it, his past still felt opaque.

“No. That was the work I did in Vietnam.” Grant scrubbed a hand through his beard. The images coming back to him, clearer than the photos that had earned so much acclaim. The photos didn't capture the sounds, or the smells. He couldn't forget either. “Children of the Viet Cong, Children of the Republic."

"Korea, Vietnam, Cambodia, Birmingham marches, the attempt on President Reagan." Natasha ticked off the major political events she knew he had been at. "Did you photograph the Bay of Pigs too?"

"No." Grant cut the last of his chicken into neat cubes. Slipping one under the table in response to the sad brown eyes resting on his knee. "I was in Berlin for most of 61. Went over to interview some old friends about living under partition, ended up being there at just the right time to watch the wall go up. Whole city changed practically overnight."

"That's my husband." Peggy sighed, not missing that in addition to his recklessness when it came to field reporting, he was also feeding Jojo at the table. "Putting himself in harm's way to be at practically every major historical event in the last half century."

"A good journalist is always where he, or she, needs to be. Some of us just have a sense." Grant shrugged. "Missed the Kennedy assassination, though. The one day I convince you to play hooky and go on a date with me, and some idiot nails the president between the eyes."

"Oswald shot him from behind." Clint corrected, helping himself to more salad.

"Sure he did." Grant snorted into his wine glass. Diligently studying the ceiling rather than meeting his wife's eyes. Natasha was going to figure out who had really taken the shot eventually, and when she did it would be better if she was around friends.

“Why did you quit?” Natasha asked, refilling her wine glass, despite Clint's sad eyes.

“Who says I did?” Grant sipped his wine. There were a hundred different things he still wanted to photograph. A whole new world racing towards them, closer every minute. “When the Berlin wall falls, I’ll be right there.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “You really think it will fall?”

“I know it will. And soon. Freedom always wins in the end.” Grant said definitively. 

Natasha took another bite of her chicken, and didn't say anything. In her experience power always won in the end. And 71 years was a long time to wait for the end, especially when there was no change, let alone an end, in sight.

*****

Natasha stood in the entrance hall studying a framed photo. It wasn’t the first time. Pretty much any time she was invited into the Director’s house she ended up here.

Grant leaned against the wall looking to see what she was seeing. Bucky laughing. It was always Bucky laughing. “All the photos in the house and the one you can’t look away from isn’t even one of mine.”

“It is weird?” Natasha asked, tipping her head to the other side. Her _Otets_ was just so _happy_ there. She had never once seen him smile like that. Not with his whole body. Not without there being at least the hint of something dark in his eyes. “Knowing that she had this whole other life without you?”

“I had a life without her too." Grant shrugged. "It made us who we are today.”

Natasha looked over at him, considering the older man intently. She still felt like there was something he was holding back from her. “Anyone ever tell you, you are an old soul?”

“I _am_ old, kiddo. I lived a very full life to get to where I am today. What's your excuse?” Grant smiled and squeezed her arm. He didn't really expect an answer. “Go on. Clint is going to leave without you if you don’t hurry.”

Grant found himself staring at the same picture. They had been so young then. The world had been so small. Would those people even recognise the people they had become?

Peggy slipped her arms around his waist and cuddled against his chest. Strange as it might be, she rather missed them too. “Wondering if all this was worth it?”

“No. I know it was.” Grant held her closer. Really, he got to have his cake and eat it too. How could it not be worth it? “Just wondering what the people in these pictures would think of it all.”

Peggy reached up to fix his hair, more salt and pepper than gold these days, but just as thick as ever. “They would be happy for us.”

“Yeah. I think they would.” Grant turned his gaze back to the pictures on the wall. To the face that always captured Natasha's attention, and a female profile in the photo above. He was smiling and laughing, young and unbroken. She was timeless and serene, her whole attention on the story Peggy was telling next to her. He was the luckiest guy in the world, and even if he wasn't, any sacrifice would have been worth it for the people he loved. The one in his arms, and the ones a lifetime away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right my darlings. This series is not over. However my life outside of my keyboard is eating up my time right now. Combined with the fact I don't actually _like_ doing mean things to my babies causing some not insignificant writers block. Rather than leave you hanging where I've gotten my self stuck (I won't say where, but it rhymes with nap), we are going to take a short break. Just a month. Then we'll be back to see what happens with Ayame and her boys trying to raise a handful like Sayuri... And what happens when a maniac who thinks murdering half the universe is going to solve anything shows up.
> 
> Now, just because this particular story is fighting me doesn't mean I'm abandoning you completely. @Calliopes_Quill and I have been working on something new for Sunrise Sunset in between my banging my head against my keyboard. You can expect that to go up next week.


End file.
